The Rebel Read online

  He caught her elbow as she rose from the chair. "I apologize. Please stay." When he spoke with such seriousness and looked at her with those big eyes framed by the thick lashes, she felt her principles melting away like butter left in the sun.

  It made denying him so very difficult, but she managed it. She shook her head.

  He sighed. "I won't sleep."

  "Matilda will leave the book here for you."

  "You're a cruel wench to deny me your company."

  "Keep speaking, and I'll deny you the book too." She looked back at him from the doorway. "Try to rest, Nick."

  ***

  Orlando Holt dismounted and handed the reins to the lad who'd emerged from the barn at the sound of hooves on the gravel drive. Lucy met him at the entrance to the kitchen garden and smiled a greeting. Orlando didn't return it.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked. She'd never seen him so anxious. "Susanna?"

  "She's well." He looked over her head toward the door. "Widow Dawson said there was a man here without a memory. I thought I'd come see him for myself."

  "You think you know him? Thank goodness! I'm so relieved." It would be far better for Orlando to help Nick remember than his father.

  He looked at her for the first time since his arrival. "No-o. That is, I can't be sure. I want to see him for myself."

  "Surely Widow Dawson described him to you. He's very distinctive. Tanned coloring, tall, strongly built. Does that remind you of anyone? Anyone you were expecting to call on you?"

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he blinked and it vanished. He smiled broadly. It was the sort of smile that could make a woman weak at the knees and lose her focus on the conversation. That's what usually happened to Lucy anyway, but not this time. She had come to realize something about Orlando Holt and that smile—he used it when he wanted to dazzle a woman and get the upper hand in a conversation.

  How odd that he would use it on her now, and how odd that she did not fall for it.

  "Are you going to answer me, Orlando, or should I ride out to Susanna and ask her instead?"

  His smiled slipped off. "It does sound like someone I know, but I want to be sure. Widow Dawson said his name is Nicholas Coleclough, and he's from Kent."

  "Yes." When he went to walk past her, she stepped in front of him. "Is the name familiar? Does your acquaintance hail from Kent?"

  He narrowed his gaze at her, clearly annoyed that she was asking so many questions and not letting him pass. So be it. She didn't like the way he couldn't give solid answers. It was too strange. What did Orlando Holt have to hide? What was his connection to Nick?

  Oh. Oh no. Surely not. He couldn't possibly be responsible for Nick's injuries. Orlando had a kind heart and soul, his wife too. Susanna would not be in love with a thug.

  Yet at that moment, Lucy didn't trust a single thing he said.

  "Lucy, come now. Why so many questions? I simply want to see him and get his measure for my own peace of mind. I don't like mysteries, and you have to admit that his story sounds absurd. I've never known anyone to lose their memory after a mere bump on the head."

  "It is not a mere bump, and it is not entirely absurd. Widow Dawson knew of one other case. What are you implying, Orlando? That he's lying? I would hope you know me well enough by now to realize I am not the most gullible woman." Not anymore at least. If the experience with Edmund had taught her anything, it was that.

  "Widow Dawson did say he was handsome and that you seemed to have developed a, uh, an attachment to him."

  Lucy crossed her arms and silently cursed her fair complexion as her face heated. "That is neither here nor there. He is telling the truth. Otherwise he is the best actor in the world and should be on stage."

  His only response was a grunt as he strode past her.

  "I'll fetch him," she called after him, but he walked very fast and was inside the house before she reached the doorway. Orlando stopped. Beyond him, in the narrow entrance between the scullery and the larder, stood Nick.

  "You're here," she said, rather stupidly.

  Nick and Orlando eyed each other like bulls sizing each other up. Nick was broader in the chest and across the shoulders, but was only a little taller than Orlando. The latter took a step closer and nodded a greeting. Nick nodded back and attempted a smile. Orlando didn't return it. His face had gone blank. Lucy had never seen him lack expression before. Orlando was the sort of man whose eyes always sparkled or whose mouth revealed his inner thoughts. The blandness was new.

  "This is Orlando Holt," she said to Nick. "Do you recognize him?

  "No. Do you recognize me, sir?"

  Orlando hesitated then said, "Yes."

  "You do?" Lucy caught Orlando's arm and hugged it in her excitement. "That's wonderful!"

  Nick narrowed his gaze. "How do I know you?"

  "Before you answer that, let's move into the parlor." Lucy ushered Orlando forward. "This is no place to stand about chatting."

  But Orlando refused to move. "I'll speak to him alone."

  "I want to be there."

  "Lucy, you know he'll be safe with me."

  "He doesn't remember you. I'm sure he'll feel happier with me in the room."

  "Happier?" Orlando started to laugh, but pressed his lips together when she glared at him.

  "He's in a vulnerable state," she said, one hand on her hip.

  "Vulnerable? Him?"

  "Don't mock her," Nick growled.

  Orlando's gaze shifted between them and slowly, he smiled. "Well, well. I'm glad I'm here to witness this."

  "What does that mean?" she asked.

  Orlando waved a hand. "Never mind. Come, Cole, let's talk in the parlor." He walked off, and Lucy followed. He stopped again. "Just Cole and me."

  She had not expected to meet with such opposition, not from Orlando. What was he hiding? "I already told you, no."

  He sighed. "Help me, Cole."

  Nick crossed his arms and squared up to Orlando, using every bit of his extra size to his advantage. Orlando, however, did not back away. "I'd like her to hear what you have to say to me. And don't call me Cole. It's either Nick or Coleclough. I think only my friends called me Cole, and I'm beginning to doubt that you and I were ever that."

  Orlando did a most unexpected thing. He laughed, a loud, raucous, belly aching laugh. "I think that's the longest speech I've ever heard you make." He slapped Nick on the shoulder, right where Lucy knew a bruise to be. Nick did not wince or give any sign that it hurt. "Come then, Lucy. If Coleclough desires your presence, you'd better join us. I'll refrain from giving any particularly sensitive information about our friend in deference to your feminine sensibilities."

  Damnation. It was the sensitive information she wanted to hear most.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lucy led the way through the house to the larger of the two parlors. She moved her embroidery frame to the corner out of the way, and sat on the chair nearest the unlit fireplace. Neither man sat down on the other chairs arranged nearby. She rolled her eyes, but they were too busy assessing each other to notice. Men! She would expect such childish behavior from Nick since he had the mind of an eighteen year-old, and he clearly didn't remember Orlando, but it surprised her that Orlando seemed equally wary.

  Were they friends as he claimed?

  "You look ridiculous with that bandage on your head," Orlando said. He laughed as he sat.

  She took it back. Only a close friend would dare tease a man the size of Nick.

  The sudden change in Orlando's mood seemed to catch Nick by surprise. He touched the bandage and gave a sheepish smile. "Lucy made me wear it."

  "Lucy?" Orlando mimicked. Clearly he thought it odd they were using first names already.

  "It was not only I who made you wear it," she said in an attempt to keep the conversation away from awkward subjects. "Widow Dawson wants you to keep it on a while longer too."

  "Does it hurt?" Orlando asked.

  "A little." Nick sat on the chair beside Lucy and s
tretched out his long legs.

  "How did it happen?"

  "I don't know."

  "Surely you must have some inkling. Did you fall out of a tree or were you set upon?"

  "What would he be doing up a tree?" Lucy asked.

  Orlando raised his hands, palm up. "Cole… clough gets up to all sorts of things when he's… traveling."

  "Why would I be traveling in these parts at all?" Nick said, leaning forward.

  "One question at a time."

  Nick glanced at Lucy. She shrugged. Let Orlando satisfy his own curiosity first. Their questions could wait.

  Matilda entered with ale in pewter cups and a trencher laden with gingerbreads. She set them on a table nearby then left. Lucy handed the cups to her guests.

  "We think I was set upon," Nick said, setting his cup down on the table. "Lucy found me covered in blood in one of her brother's meadows."

  "He was dazed," she added. "He didn't know where he was. I brought him home and patched him up as best as I could. Did Widow Dawson explain about his memory loss and that he thinks he's eighteen?"

  "She did," Orlando said, holding Nick's gaze. "So you really can't recall anything of the last eleven years?"

  Nick rested his elbows on his knees and shook his head. "How did we meet, Mr. Holt?"

  Orlando gave a wry smile. "That's the first time you've ever addressed me as Mr. It's always been just Holt or Orlando." He paused, but neither Nick nor Lucy filled the silence. Did he expect them to? "We worked together," he said. "That's how we met."

  "We worked?"

  "Ye-es. Why do you say it as if I'd just told you your hair was green?"

  "What did we work at?"

  Orlando's brow furrowed. "We were retained by a man named Lord Oxley. Do you remember him?"

  Nick rubbed a finger over his lips and gave a single nod. "It sounds familiar. What sort of things did we do for this Oxley?"

  Orlando's hesitation was fleeting, but Lucy noticed it. "Errands."

  Nick frowned. "I'm an errand boy?"

  "Hardly a boy."

  "Quite," said Lucy. "But it does seem odd that the son of Lord Coleclough would—"

  "Son of a lord!" Orlando stood and set his cup very deliberately and carefully on the mantelpiece. "Bloody hell."

  "Don't use that language in front of a lady," Nick said.

  "You don't know who his father is?" Lucy asked. "Yet you claim to be his friend."

  "We are friends." Orlando ran a hand through his blond hair then down his face. He looked tired, haggard. Susanna's pregnancy must have been worrying him more than Lucy thought. "We're recent friends, comparatively anyway. I've known him only four years. Cole… clough never told me about his life before that." He spoke to Lucy but looked at Nick. "He never told anyone. Except perhaps Lord Oxley." He rested a hand on the mantelpiece and stared into the fireplace. "He'll want to know you're here."

  "I can't see myself running errands for anyone, lord or not," Nick said.

  "Nor can I," Lucy said. "Or you for that matter, Orlando."

  "What sort of errands?" Nick asked.

  "You'll have to ask Hughe that. I don't work for him anymore."

  Nick brightened. "Hughe! That name sounds much more familiar. Is that what we called this Lord Oxley? We must have been good friends then."

  "We were. Are. He was at my wedding."

  "Was I?"

  "No. You usually don't involve yourself in our personal matters."

  "Then why was I in this area at all? Did I visit you?"

  Orlando nodded. "Just after Lucy left yesterday morning, you arrived unannounced. You gave us a baby's rattle."

  "A rattle? Ah yes, your wife is with child. So my sole purpose for being in this part of Hampshire was to deliver a baby's rattle?" Nick shook his head. "We must have been very good friends indeed."

  It didn't quite make sense. The pieces didn't fit together to make a whole. "Yet you didn't attend Orlando and Susanna's wedding," Lucy said. "How odd."

  Orlando merely shrugged. "The workings of Cole's mind are a mystery to me. Always have been. I assure you we are friends, good ones. Before Susanna came along, I'd have given my life for him, and I know he'd do the same for me." His gaze briefly met Nick's before he looked away. "But I never really knew him. How could I when he never spoke about his past? I didn't even know he was the son of a lord. What rank?"

  "Baron," Nick said.

  "Oxley's an earl. I wonder if he knows your father. Is he still alive?"

  "He was when I was eighteen. He may be dead now." He lowered his head and blew out a breath. Lucy touched his knee, and he gave her a reassuring smile that didn't reach his eyes.

  "So you know nothing of Nick's life before four years ago," she said to Orlando. All questions about the scars on his back would be futile then. "What about his other friends or acquaintances? Did you meet any of them?"

  "Only our mutual colleagues. There are others who work for Hughe."

  Lucy cleared her throat. "Are they all men?"

  "Yes." The familiar sparkle was back in Orlando's eye. "Are you trying to ask me if he's married?"

  She lifted one shoulder and concentrated on meeting his gaze without blinking or blushing. She didn't dare look at Nick.

  "He's not, as far as I know," Orlando said.

  Lucy's heart plunged and rose, making her feel a little nauseous and giddy.

  "What sort of answer is that?" Nick asked, echoing Lucy's thoughts. "Either I am or I'm not."

  "You may have been married before I knew you," said Orlando with barely strained patience. "I already told you, you're secretive. I knew nothing of your life before four years ago. You hid the fact that your father is a baron, perhaps you hid the fact you had a wife too."

  "Are you implying I abandoned my wife to work for this Lord Oxley?"

  "It happens. Wives are abandoned all the time."

  Nick shot to his feet. "What sort of cur do you take me for?"

  Orlando held up his hands. "Or she may have died. If you cared deeply for her, it would explain why you brood so."

  "I don't think we were friends. It must be a lie. If you knew me at all, you'd know I'd never abandon a wife or keep the existence of my marriage a secret from those I call friend."

  Did Orlando hear the slight waver when he said 'friend'? Did he notice the way Nick didn't quite meet his gaze? Lucy did, but that could be because she knew Nick had no friends before the age of eighteen. He couldn't possibly know how he'd treat one.

  Orlando's mouth twisted in thought. "I agree, in a way. The Cole I knew wouldn't avoid his responsibilities where a wife was concerned, but I disagree on the rest of your claim. If it were an unhappy marriage, it's precisely the sort of thing you would keep from us."

  "It's Coleclough to you," Nick growled.

  Lucy's hands ached, and she realized she'd been holding the chair arms too hard. She let go and clasped her fingers in her lap. Nick couldn't be married. He was right. He would never abandon a wife. The man she knew was honorable, and Lucy was utterly convinced that the Nicholas Coleclough she'd spent almost every waking moment with since yesterday was the right one. The secretive, brooding one that Orlando described was not her Nick. It was a mask. It had to be. But why did he need to wear one?

  "You called him brooding just now," she said to Orlando. It was a description that matched the man she'd first met in the meadow, but it did not fit the Nick who had kissed her so tenderly and smiled so readily. "Yet Nick is not like that. He's amiable and sweet. Quite charming in fact."

  "Charming? Sweet? At eighteen perhaps, but not at nine-and-twenty." He chuckled. "Believe me, when he's back to his usual self, you'll find him as aggravating and broody as I do."

  "Perhaps…"

  "Just wait and see."

  "I am right here," Nick snapped. "And with respect, sir, it's likely that you find me aggravating because you aggravate me. I doubt I treat anyone else with less respect than they deserve."

  Orlando's response was a go
od-natured shrug. Lucy wanted to leap to Nick's defense but held herself in check. Orlando wouldn't exaggerate such a thing, and besides, Nick had been no charmer on their first meeting.

  "Where is this Lord Oxley now? Perhaps we should write to him too," she said.

  "Too?" Orlando picked up his cup and sipped.

  "We wrote to Nick's father at Coleclough Hall. Widow Dawson has the letter now."

  "I see. I'll notify Hughe for you. No need to trouble yourself."

  "That's not necessary," Nick said. "We don't want to inconvenience you, what with your wife being so close to her time."

  "I'll send a man in my stead."

  "Where does he live?"

  "Oxley House, only a day's ride away. But he's probably not there."

  "How could you possibly know that?"

  Orlando sipped slowly, a delaying tactic if Lucy ever saw one. "He rarely is," he said, setting his cup down on the mantelpiece again. "He travels a lot."

  "Then how will you know where to find him?"

  "I know places he frequents."

  It was like watching two bulls butting heads in the paddock. Neither was prepared to back away, yet they didn't move forward either. Were they this aggressive toward each other all the time?

  Orlando sat down again and fixed Lucy with an alarmingly serious gaze. "How many people know he's here aside from Widow Dawson and Bel?"

  She glanced at Nick, but he was studying Orlando, his eyes narrowed. It would seem he had heard the tightness in Orlando's voice too.

  "Everyone in Sutton Grange would have heard by now," she said. "I sent a lad to ask Milner if anyone matching Nick's description had been through. Milner said none had, but you know what he's like. He would have told half the village."

  "More than half." Orlando dragged his hand through his hair again. "You need to come home to Stoneleigh with me, Cole."

  "What?" Nick blurted out.

  "Absolutely not," Lucy said. "Susanna is in no state to care for him, and she shouldn't be burdened with a guest at the moment." She picked up the trencher of sweetmeats and thrust them under Orlando's nose. "I would have thought you'd have more care for your wife's condition."

  Orlando took a sweetmeat and popped it into his mouth.